Hardest of Hearts
by BlaqkHysteria
Summary: Takes place before season 1. The story follows Jim and his (difficult) relationship with an OC, and eventually turns into a bloodbath, of course. Rated M for Moriarty ( lots of kinky sex in later chapters).
1. Chapter 1

**So yes, I wrote another Sherlock fic, and yes, it involves Jim and an OC, again. Bare with me, I have a lot of feelings. Anyway, while reading this, keep in mind that the POV is alternated between Jim's and the OC's, basically there will be a Jim chapter and then an OC chapter and then a Jim chapter and so on... you get the idea. This is basically porn with a plot, and it's gonna get pretty dark. You have been warned. Okay, enough chit chat. Hope you enjoy the story! Reviews are always welcome (:**

* * *

1. JIM

Today was a horrible, horrible day. Fucking hell, I've had bad days before, but today was the bloody king of bad fucking days. Round of applause.

Also, I seem to have forgotten how to knot my tie. I've been standing in front of the mirror for twenty minutes and I have accomplished absolutely nothing, but there's no way I'm going out without my tie.

I could stay home, but people get mad when I ditch their stupid parties. For some reason, people like to be socially active and stuff. I only go because there may be new clients, new adventures, something interesting. Well, I also go to play my favourite outdoor game. It's called "How fast can I get you out of that dress and into my bed". Sadly, it never takes more than five minutes.

Lately, I've been taking Sebastian with me, to make things more interesting. We play "Who can get you out of that dress and into his bed first". The jackass even wins, sometimes. To be fair, he's really tall. Like, freakishly tall.

"Sebastian!" I call out from inside my wardrobe. No answer. I call out again, and hear his heavy footsteps getting nearer. He leans on the door frame, arms crossed on his chest.

"What?"

"Knot my tie," I say, but he doesn't move an inch. "Pretty please?" I sing-song in my childish high pitched voice which I know he hates.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and approaches me. He takes my tie and knots it. My god, he really is freakishly tall, isn't he? Not that I'm short. He's just... a moose.

"There," he snorts.

"Why aren't you dressed?" I ask, only now noticing he's still in his work clothes, black jeans and an old grey t-shirt.

"I'm not coming, I'm on a job tonight, remember?"

"Oh, right," I furrow my brows. I despise the thought of going alone, and it must show on my face because Sebastian is suddenly pushing me out of the wardrobe from behind my back, firm but gentle, and he's saying that I'll be fine and that he'll be home when I get back. I sit on the edge of my king sized bed and pout.

"James, c'mon, don't be like that."

"I'll die of boredom, and it'll be your fault," I hiss.

"Yes, okay," Sebastian sighs, and walks into the wardrobe again. He comes out of few moments later and hands me my favourite coat. "Here. Now for fuck's sake, get outta here."

I snort loudly as I stand up and put the black coat on, then I storm out of the room without another word. The car is already waiting, I think it's been waiting for more than a hour actually. I get in and sigh, observing the familiar lights of London as they pass us by, all bleeding into one.

I'm already bored.

It's no news, really. I'm always bored.

I'm bored as I get out of the car and I'm bored as I enter the hotel and I'm bored as the waiter takes my coat and I'm bored as I join the faceless crowd in front of me.

Bored.

I spot the host and walk up to him. Thank you for inviting me to your fucking awful Christmas party, I don't remember your stupid name but I'm quite sure you're some kind of smuggler, and possibly I've slept with your barely-legal trophy wife. Or was that your barely-legal trophy daughter? Oh, well.

I go to the bar and get myself a scotch and soda, then I dive back into the crowd. People are talking to me. I have absolutely no idea who any of you are, but since you're talking to me I'm guessing we did business together, or - in the case of the dumb blonde who is now playing with my tie - I slept with you. Maybe both, who knows? I very charmingly take the bimbo's hand off my tie and excuse myself. I need more scotch.

"Scotch and soda," I tell the bartender. "Easy on the soda."

The room is big and noisy and there are people everywhere, I see horrible ties with unmatching shirts and slutty evening gowns in alarmingly bright colors. I got a room this morning, now the question is who do I lure into it? I scan the room, but don't see anything worth the effort. There are a couple of good looking girls, but they're the oh-so-vulgar-and-slutty kind of hot. I like my women having some self-respect, so I can take it from them.

The shot girl is very pretty, but her make up says daddy issues. Way too easy.

Then I see her. How have I not noticed her earlier? Holy hell, I feel like I've been hit by a bus. She's at the bar, talking to some entrapreneur I know to be a wife beater and a murderer. Basically, a shitfaced dickhead.

She's stunning, actually stunning, wearing a long black gown that leaves her back nude all the way down to the dimples on top of her beautifully round ass, and on the front, the dress has long sleeves and covers her up to her collarbone, perfectly fitting her silouhette.

Tom Ford, or maybe Armani.

She doesn't look like a gold digger, and there's no ring on her finger so it's unlikely she's involved with any of these... gentlemen. Could be a high class whore, but there's something about the way she holds herself that screams professional. She smiles at the shitfaced dickhead and brings a martini glass to her lips, not flirting, just masterfully kiss-ass.

Oh god, that smirk. She could kill someone with that. She's got more self-respect than all the women in the room put together, and she looks like a fucking evil queen or something.

I straighten my tie and walk up to the shitfaced dickhead with a charming smile.

"Christopher Morrison, how long has it been?" I greet him. He shakes my hand firmly and smiles widely.

"James! It's so good to see you. How have you been?"

"Good, good, how about you? How's your lovely wife?" I ask, with just a hint of irony.

"Thankfully, under control, thanks to this lovely lady over here," he smiles even wider, and gestures at the mystery woman beside him, who smiles at me. "Gwineth, this is James Moriarty," Christopher adds, and Gwineth - what a beautiful name - holds out a hand and says it's nice to meet me.

"The pleasure is all mine," I flash her my most charming smile and softly kiss her hand. She seems taken aback by the gesture, but her perfect smile never falters. Someone waves at Morrison from other side of the room, perfect timing.

"Excuse me," he says, and Gwineth smiles again as he leaves.

"Another round for the lady, and scotch for me," I say to the bartender, and the woman looks at me with a hint of curiosity. The guy places our drinks on the bar, and I take a long sip of scotch.

"So, I take it you're a lawyer," I smile at her. She drinks her Martini slowly, then licks her lips and I want to do her on the bar.

"Defense attorney, yes," she says.

"You must be a bloody good one to have Morrison as a client," I smirk.

"Half of the gentlemen in this room are my clients," she smiles again.

"Mine too," I say. "And yet we've never met before."

"What do you do?"

"I solve problems," I say, my stare going from her light eyes to her beautiful lips and back up again. She smiles.

"So do I. I'm guessing people come to you when there's no legal solution, though."

"More or less," I reply smugly, then I finish my drink. Gwineth tears her eyes away from mine for the first time when her phone rings. She takes it from the little black purse she'd placed on the bar and answers it. I look down at my empty glass and gesture at the bartender to fill it.

"Gwineth Williams," the woman says firmly, with a hint of annoyance. "I can't talk right now. Drop by the office in the morning and I'll see what I can do," she sighs. "Of course. Goodnight," she says then, and hangs up. She puts the phone back in her purse and turns her stare to me once again. I raise my eyes from the glass to meet hers and smile.

"I need some fresh air," I say. "Care to join me?" I ask. I saw cigarettes in her purse, hopefully she'll jump at the chance to smoke one.

"Sure," she smiles. I lead her to the balcony and she immediately lights a cigarette while I lean on the railing. She stands beside me and watches the night sky. I could try to impress her with my knowledge of astronomics, but something tells me it's not the right move. A woman like Gwineth probably wants someone who isn't afraid of her, who's more powerful than her. Yeah, she definitely likes it rough. No, no, let's not think about that yet, if I get distracted I'll surely screw this up.

Focus. Powerful, unafraid, rough. Basically, I'll just have to be myself. Never tried that before.

I stand behind her, and she notices. She turns her head slightly, not enough for me to see her eyes, but enough to catch another of those killer smirks. I brush her red curls away from her shoulder and lean in closer.

"I must say, Gwineth, your dress could turn saints into sinners," I whisper in her ear, and again she turns around and smiles.

"I know," she says. "That's why I wear it."

She lets out a cloud of smoke and I'm still breathing on her neck, and my god I would like to bite down on it and draw blood. My hands gently rest on her hips, and I slide them all the way up to her waist, then back down. Helena inhales deeply and then another cloud of smoke escapes her mouth, and I kiss her neck so softly that she gets goosebumps. She throws her cigarette off the balcony and into the garden beneath us.

"James," she says calmly.

"Yes?"

"Do you have a room?"

"Of course."

"I'd like to see it."


	2. Chapter 2

2. GWINETH

I let him take my hand and we swim through the crowd, towards the elevator. As soon as the elevator doors close, I expect him to pin me to the wall, but he doesn't. His arm is around my waist, fingers playing with the fabric of my dress. I don't know why I'm doing this.

James Moriarty, was it? Never heard of him, and that's strange, because I have heard of every criminal in London. And yet, he's been invited and he knows everyone downstairs. James Moriarty. I'll run a background check tomorrow.

He takes my hand again and leads me to the penthouse, and I wonder why I'm doing this, though mostly I wonder how he can afford the Ritz penthouse even for just one night.

It's his eyes, I conclude, black pools of madness. And his Armani suit, and the Alexander McQueen tie. There's something extremely sinister about him, and I'll admit, I've always liked my men sinister.

Nothing has changed, since then. Maybe that's why I became a defense attorney, to increase my chances of meeting psychos.

And here he is, the man of my dreams. He loosens his tie and grins like I'm a gazelle and he's a lion. What he doesn't know, is that I'm no gazelle.

He takes my dress off and takes his suit jacket off very calmly, and his eyes never leave mine, and he never stops grinning. When he pushes me onto the bed and climbs on top of me, there's a strange light in his eyes and my god, I want him to stop being such a gentleman.

He must have read my mind because suddenly he's kissing me so violently that I almost want him to stop. Except I don't really.

He bites my neck and the first, low moan escapes my lips. I can't keep it together anymore, and I take off his shirt and he smirks and slips out of his trousers.

He grinds on top of me and nibs at my neck again, then he's kissing me and biting my bottom lip and I can taste blood. Oh, no, this is very bad, Gwineth. You won't be able to avoid wanting to marry him, now.

Somewhere between him taking my pants off with his teeth and me taking his off, I notice a couple of scars on his chest. They don't look like surgery scars, but right now that's all the reasoning I can get done because his tongue is circling my nipple and I want to die more than ever before. No, scratch that, because he's biting it now and my deathwish grows even deeper.

And when he moves south I wish I had my gun with me so I could shoot myself right now because nothing will ever be as good as this is. He keeps my legs apart with his hands while I dig my nails into the mattress, and I feel like I could stay like this forever. But I don't, because this man is a gift from god and far from me to be ungrateful, so I push him off me and crawl on top of him. He seems surprised, but in a very good way. I kiss him and then proceed to leave a trail of wet kisses from his neck down to his abs. Mr. James Moriarty seems like he's about to implode when I run my tongue from the base of his cock up to the tip, so I tease him a bit more - okay, a lot more - before taking him into my mouth. My tongue is still masterfully working his length as I suck it. He trembles under me and I kiss the tip of his cock before going back up to his neck and biting down on it as hard as I can. He growls like a wild beast, then he grabs my shoulders and pushes me back down onto the bed with such strength and violence that I'm almost frightened. Oh, you are truly the man of my dreams, Jim.

He reaches out a hand to take something from his trousers pocket, but I stop him, and I'm too breathless to tell him why we don't need a condom, but we don't, we really don't.

"Sure?" he asks, his voice deep and throaty. I nod. I'll explain later, maybe.

He takes my wrists and pins them down above of my head, his grip so tight it's gonna leave bruises. I hope he knows that if he bites my neck one more time I'm gonna scream. Oh, hell, apparently he does. The bastard grins before kissing me again, and while he's doing that he finally thrusts into me and there's actual fireworks in my brain. I wish my hands were free so I could pull him closer, but he keeps them locked above my head with one hand, while he uses the other to balance himself on top of me.

At this point, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. He's violent and he's rough and he's completely insane and I can see in his eyes that he could still be so much better. I manage to free my hands as he gives another perfect thrust, but he doesn't look displeased by that. I put my hands around his neck and he kisses me again and I dig my nails in his shoulders and he growls from the back of his throat, then grins again.

I hadn't been bottom in a very long time. I always top, mostly because men are clueless so I have to do all the work if I want to get somewhere. I could roll us over and have my way with him, but why? This is so much better, and a lot less effort too. So what I do is arch my back until it hurts and move my hips in circles around him, and the look on his face and the growling sounds that that gets me are my new favourite things in this world.

He finds a steady pace, and rocks into me with an unprecedented passion. But you can do better, Jimmy, I know you can.

"Harder," I whisper in his ear. "Harder, James..."

He smirks and suddenly he's even rougher, his hipbones smashing against mine with each painful, perfect thrust. I will have pretty bruises to look at and remember this moment. I'm scratching his back with my nails now, and he goes even deeper inside me. Oh, perfect, beautiful, insane, psychopath. Be mine, James Moriarty.

I feel myself getting close to release, and I want to hold it back but I am too far gone to manage that. I don't know if I actually screamed, I'm not a screamer, well, not usually. Okay maybe I did scream, just a little bit. James looks very proud of himself, and he gives a couple more glorious thrusts.

"Gwineth..." he breathes, and I nod again, I want him to come inside me, and the best part is that he can do it without any repercussions whatsoever. He smiles, a very bright and evil smile, before giving a few more thrusts and finally wasting himself inside me.

Holy hell, that was glorious.

He rolls off of me and chuckles to himself, and I can't move but I turn my head and look at him, and he meets my eyes and smiles again.

You perfect little bastard. Who are you?


	3. Chapter 3

3. JIM

I wake up and my back is killing me. It feels like someone walked all over it, but it stings and it burns too. I sit up on the bed and look behind me. There's blood on the sheets.

Oh. Gwineth is still here.

She's half covered by the sheets, and holy fucking hell if she isn't the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. She looks even better than last night, now that her hair is a mess and she has bite marks on her neck and shoulders and bruises on her hips and wrists.  
Hadn't had such great sex in years. She is a wild animal. I mean, the things she did with her hips and her tongue... And she told me to hurt her, she wanted me to be as rough as I could...

I could marry this woman.

I lie back down and ignore the burning and the stinging in my back from where her nails dug into my flesh, I stare at the ceiling and wonder what I should do now.

I could leave. I should, actually. But then my phone rings and she groans. Goddammit.

"Yes," I answer it, trying to keep my voice down.

"James, where are you?" asks Sebastian.

"I'm at the Ritz."

"You slept there?"

"Yes."

"She must be really hot."

"You have no idea."

"Alright. See you later."

"Yes, bye," I say, then put the phone back on the nightstand. Gwineth rolls over and looks at me with a devilish half-smile.

"Good morning," she says.

"'Morning," I reply. What now? How do I handle this situation? I could say I'm late for work. Which I'm not, obviously. I could just say bye-bye and leave, that's more me.

I don't do it. Instead, I find myself taking the hotel phone on the nightstand and fucking shit what the bloody hell am I doing? I call room service. Why do I do that? No fucking clue.

"Coffee or tea?" I ask her. That's it, I'm 100% done with myself. What the fuck are you doing, Jim?

"Coffee," she says, and she looks confused. Oh, honey, I feel you. This is all very confusing. I tell room service to bring us a lot of coffee. Like, a shitload of the stuff. And some cookies.

Gwineth furrows her brows when I mention the cookies, then she gets up. Oh, fuck me. That is the best looking ass I have ever fucking seen. She puts on her underwear, then she curses under her breath and slips the long black dress on.

"James," she says, looking out of the window, and it sounds just like it did last night on the balcony, her voice is velvet and the subtext is dirty.

"Yes, love?" I say, trying to remain calm, trying not to have a boner, trying to just put my trousers on.

"What time is it?" she asks. I glance at my phone and tell her it's almost 8 o'clock, she nods silently but I can see that she has somewhere else to be.

Oh, please, please, leave. Go and never come back. You'd make a very pretty corpse, Helena, and every time I look at you a new way to end your life comes to my mind. You have no right to be so fucking beautiful, you have absolutely no right to make me feel like this, like I want to see you in a white dress, vowing that we'll have crazy hot sex every night for the rest of our lives. Holy hell, please, just leave. If you don't, I'll have to rip your pretty little throat and hang you upside down like a pig...

The door. I open it. There's a waiter, and for a second I'm very confused, but then I remember the coffee. The guy comes in and places the tray on the table under the window, I tip him and he leaves.

Gwineth doesn't sit down at the table, she pours coffee in her cup and drinks it by the window. She doesn't look uneasy. I mean, were I her, I'd be very uneasy. Slept with a guy you've known for ten minutes, had him do some pretty twisted shit to you, woke up next to him in a hotel room, and you just stand there looking at the skyline and drinking your coffee like it's not embarrassing at all and it's oh-so-normal?

I'm in love with you, please marry me.

I mentally slap myself.

"Could you call me a cab, dear?" she asks me. "I have court in thirty minutes."

I smile and take my phone. "Jerry," I say to my driver. "The Ritz."

Jerry calls me a few minutes later, says he's here. I take Gwineth downstairs - no other words were spoken while we waited and I want to kill myself - and we get into the car.

"A cab would have been fine," she smirks.

"This is faster," I say. "Where to, love?"

She doesn't tell me. What she does is press a button and the barrier dividing us from the driver goes down, and she tells him.

I hate you with a burning passion and I don't even remember your last name.

The car pulls over by a white building in Belgravia. Posh.

"Thank you for the ride," she smiles maliciously. Oh, and what a ride it was, my dear.

"My pleasure," I say, and kiss her hand like I did last night. She smiles a little brighter at that. "Will I see you again?"

Her smile turns into an evil grin, and she leans in closer to me, until her lips are brushing against mine.

"No," she whispers. She gets out of the car and waves me goodbye as she closes the front door.

Oh. Oh, no.

"Jerry," I growl. "Take me home."


	4. Chapter 4

4. GWINETH

I slept with contact lenses on and now my eyes are on fire. I take the contacts off and put on my glasses, then change into a grey suit and do my make up. My body is a battlefield and it feels great. I should probably hide the bruises on my neck, though. Pity, really.

When I arrive at the courthouse I get another coffee and review the case files one more time before entering the courtroom. Prosecutor Stark is already there and he eyes me curiously as I sit down next to my client, who looks nervous. I tell him to relax and leave everything in my very capable hands. I'm running on roughly four hours of sleep, but adrenaline is still rushing through my veins. Caffeine helps, too.

Opening statements, first witness, yes I'd like to cross-examine, thank you very much, second witness, objection your honor, goes to credibility, oh Mr. Prosecutor you look surprised now, didn't you know your star witness was an alcoholic? How sad. Court is adjourned, bye bye. Stark follows me outside.

"You're wearing glasses," he says, and he looks rather proud of himself for noticing.

"So observant, Mr. Stark. I'm impressed. Maybe you should be more observant when you choose your witnesses, though."

"Why are you wearing glasses?"

"Why are you wearing that hideous tie? Did you lose a bet?"

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine this fine morning," he smiles.

"Is there a point to this conversation?"

"...Have a nice day, miss Williams."

I take a cab and go to the firm. The young associates stop talking as soon as they see me, I don't even look at them. I go inside my office without one glance at my secretary, but as soon as I sit down at my desk she knocks. Come in, you useless human being, and please don't ask about my glasses or I'll shove the intercom down your throat.

"Coffee," she says, placing a steaming cup on my desk. "Messages," she hands me some post-its. "And here are those records you requested," she puts a heavy beige folder down on the table.

"Thanks. Get out," I say coldly. "No, wait, Hannah?" I call as she's closing the door behind her.

"Yes?"

"Get me a donut," I demand, wrinkling my nose as I contemplate the option of actually getting more than one.

"A donut?" she repeats, confused.

"Did I fucking stutter, Hannah?"

Hannah looks terrified, she doesn't know whether to nod or shake her head, so she awkwardly does both before turning around and going to get me a bloody donut.

I get it, yes, she's confused because she knows I don't eat carbs, or anything that's fried... I don't really eat a lot of things, do I? But seriously, right now I just want a donut. And maybe some fish and chips and a loaded gun to blow my brains off with.

I light a cigarette and go through my messages. Mr. Collins needs me, says it's urgent, probably got busted with underage boys again, then there's Christmas wishes from most of my clients and my mother - who also wants to know why I never answer my phone - and then apparently Prosecutor Cartwright wants me to call her back. Well, why the hell not. I call her office.

"Carrie Cartwright," she answers.

"Good morning, sunshine," I smile.

"Cut the crap, Gwineth," she snarls.

"Oh, I get all tingly when you take control like that," I purr.

"I have your settlement offer right here, and do you know what I think?"

"That's it awfully kind of me to offer a settlement when I could just as easily tear you a new one in court?"

"No. I think you're full of shit, actually. Your client is a murderer, and I will die before I let him off this easily!"

"Look at it this way, honey bee: if you settle, my client gets five to eight years. If you don't, and decide to face me in court, he'll walk away a free man."

"He won't, because I'll beat you," she replies, but I can hear in her voice that she's not as confident as she would like to sound.

"Don't flatter yourself, Carrie, darling, because you know I'm going to destroy you in court."

"Is that supposed to scare me?"

"Yes," I chuckle. "Now, be smart for once in your life, and take the deal."

"...I'll think about it."

"Good call, princess," I smile again, and hang up.

I know how this looks: it looks like I'm a badass motherfucker who never loses and is overly arrogant. I'm not, I swear. Well, maybe I am overly arrogant, but that's not the point. People fear me, and that's enough to get me everything I want. Like, in this situation: I have no bloody case, no solid proof of my client's innocence - mainly because he's a criminally negligent surgeon who has in fact killed a few patients - and no witnesses.

Now, I don't bribe judges and I don't rig juries. I don't tamper with evidence and I don't pay off witnesses. There's a certain line that I'm not willing to cross, not because of my morals - I don't have morals - nor because I have respect for my profession, but only because that could get me disbarred or jailed up. I don't really care about ethics, god knows I really have no conscience... the only thing I care about is myself, and I don't want to lose my job or go to jail. So, what can I do to ensure that my client gets the best possible sentence? I can't have him aquitted, so I put together a legitimate settlement offer and make Mrs Prosecutor believe that I'm doing her a favour. Mrs Prosecutor is too scared to call my bluff, so she's gonna take the deal and everybody wins.

There, now I know that you're not used to this kind of honesty and cynism, but please, wipe the shock off your pretty faces and go on with your lives.

I go through the messages again, and there's one I didn't notice earlier. It just says "That suit looks great on you, but it would look better on my bedroom floor" and then there's a phone number.

Oh, no, no. Nope. Not happening, mate. You may be the man of my dreams, but... but what? I managed to avoid thinking about him until now, but I think I've run out of reasons not to see him again.

When he asked if he could see me again and I said no, I was very serious. I didn't do it just to play with him, just to make him want me more. I said no because I'm terrified.


	5. Chapter 5

5. JIM

I can't think straight, this is driving me insane. That stupid little bitch better be prepared because I am coming for her. I grab a notepad and a pen from the coffee table and start scribbling the most complicated equations I can think of. Maths is great, I love maths and maths loves me, maths calms me down and it helps me think.

After two fucking minutes I'm done with that shit and I collapse on the couch, waiting for death to take me away. Which he doesn't, because death is a cunt, just like everyone else.

And then my phone rings and I don't recognize the number. Please, god, anything but another assassination, I'm bored of assassinations. Also, please, no terrorist cells today, I can't deal with people who can't speak proper English right now...

"This better be fucking important, or I swear to god I will trace the call and you'll be dead before you can hang up," I yell, rage swelling up inside me.

"Hello, James," says her beautiful, perfect, velvety voice. I regain my composure and clear my throat.

"Good evening," I say. "I apologize for the yelling, it wasn't meant for you."

"Oh, but I like the yelling," she purrs. Oh I bet you do, you twisted little bitch. "I got your message, by the way. Do you have people watching me?" she asks, but she doesn't seem bitter. She actually sounds... flattered.

"Yes," I smile.

"I ran a background check on you," she says then. "I didn't find much."

"I'm hurt, Gwineth," I chuckle. "If you wanted to know something, you could have just asked."

"I'll ask, then. Why do you have a degree in mathematics?" she asks, and I chuckle again.

"Because I'm cool," I smirk.

"Never met a cool mathematician before," she soothes.

"What can I say? I'm one of a kind," I say. "Anything else you'd like to know?"

"How fast can you get here?" she purrs.

"I thought you said you didn't want to see me again," I reply smugly.

"Answer the question."

"Are you home?"

"Yes."

"Twenty minutes," I smirk. "But mark my words, princess, you are in over your head this time."

"Am I?"

"Find yourself a safeword while you wait," I threaten her before hanging up.

I straighten my Westwood and go upstairs to my room, and as I go through my drawers to find the right equipment the mental images of what I'm planning on doing are making me hard already. The little bitch has no idea what she got herself into.

I take two sets of handcuffs and my favorite switchblade knife, the one with the mother-of-pearl handle, then put everything in my briefcase and head out.

The doorbell goes ding-dong and I hear the clicking of heels getting nearer and nearer, until finally the white door opens. Oh, you don't fight fair, do you, Gwineth? That see-through peignoir should be illegal, as should the black lace lingerie I can see underneath it. Oh, dear me, Gwineth, god was at the top of his game when he made you...

"You're late," she grins, and I slowly close the distance between us and put an arm around her waist.

"45 minutes of waiting around, you must be quite mad," I whisper in her ear, then softly nib at her earlobe. Gwineth bites her bottom lip and gently traces a finger on my throat.

"I'm furious," she purrs, grabbing my tie and pulling me into a heated kiss. She's trying her best to fight her instincts, not willing to admit to herself how much she really wants me, but despite her efforts she's already taking my suit jacket off, never breaking the desperate kiss she's got me locked in. I let her toss my jacket on the floor while I close the door behind us with a kick, but if she thinks I'll let her off this easily, she's in for a surprise.  
I grab her neck and push her away enough to look into her eyes.

"Not so fast, kitten," I breathe. "Show me to the bedroom, would you?"

Gwineth catches her breath and leads the way, and when we get there I push her on the bed and leave her there while I place my briefcase on the dresser and open it.

"So," I start as I take the cuffs out, "safeword?"

"I don't need one," she claims, and I must say that the arrogance in her voice turns me the fuck on.

"Don't be so sure," I smirk, turning around so she can see what's in my hands. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, and smiles at the handcuffs, but it's the knife that makes her eyes light up. A grin spreads across her lips and I can see lust and anticipation in her eyes. I just knew she'd be into this.

I approach her and push her down on the bed, then cuff her to the headboard, one set of cuffs per hand. I can feel her quivering under me, and it just makes me smile wider.

I leave her there again, and go back to the dresser where I left my knife. I take my tie off, then my shirt and trousers, and her stare is so piercing it almost physically hurts. I take the knife with me and go back to her, and what a sight she is, tied up and sprawled on the bed. I get her out of her lingerie, and her breathing is already uneven.

I smirk as I trace her throat with the edge of the knife, and she nervously swallows just as I move the blade to her chest and breasts. I take my time with her, observing every inch of her beautiful body, watching it tense when I run the blade over it, making her want this even more. She's breathing heavily now, and I tease her left nipple with the cold knife while I run my tongue over her right one ever so slightly. She's shivering, and low, delicious, moans escape her lips. I switch, licking the left nipple and teasing the right one with the blade, and she's cursing under her breath, so I bite down and this time she's moaning my name. I chuckle and raise my head to catch a glimpse of her face, all the while running the edge of the knife among her breasts. Her eyes are shut tight and she's biting her bottom lip again, and it's enough to make my cock hurt from the arousal.

"Gwineth," I breathe, and she opens her eyes and looks down at the blade pressing on her skin. Her breathing speeds up and I take it she wants me to make her bleed. I smile evilly as I press the knife on her skin and trace it down to her stomach, leaving a thin crimson line in its wake. She moans louder now, twisted little bitch. Not that I'm complaining, of course, this is like a dream come true.

The blood starts pouring from the fresh wound, and I cut her again, on one breast and then the other, tracing the blade down to her nipples, and when it breaks the sensitive skin there she gasps and shifts under me, and her moans grow louder and she's stuttering my name again.

"J-James..." she breathes heavily. I want her to beg for it, this isn't enough yet. I put the blade down on the bed and lick the fresh wounds, savoring the metallic taste of her sweet blood. She groans and arches her back, and I lick the wounds on her breasts until I get to her swollen, bruised and bloody nipples. I run my tongue over them one more time, then I start sucking them roughly, and I can tell she's in pain but I can also tell that she's loving every second of it, because she curses under her breath and her whole body is quivering under mine.

I take the knife again, and I let her know by tracing the blade on her abdomen before I spread her legs apart, and I know she wants me to touch her right there but I don't. I cut her one more time, on her inner thighs, and kiss and lick those wounds too as soon as they start bleeding. And there it is, she's calling my name again, and it's the best sound I've ever heard. Then I flick out my tongue again and I lick and suck on her swollen center, and I don't know how much longer I can keep this up because I want to fuck her to death.

Gwineth struggles with the handcuffs, she wants me to free her, she wants to touch me and make me give it to her. I chuckle darkly and move back up, and I see the bite marks on her neck from last night and I bite her again in the same spot, and it must hurt really good because her back is so arched I'm almost afraid she's gonna break it.

"Jim," she moans in my ear. "Goddammit, Jim..."

"What is it, love?" I breathe, and I trace my tongue on her throat.

"J-Jim," she repeats, and that's probably the only word she can manage to utter right now. I know what she wants, but she's gonna have to say it out loud.

"Say it," I grunt as I grind on top of her, biting and kissing and licking.

"F-fuck me, James," she finally moans, but it's not quite enough yet, and I chuckle and bite her again. "J-James... please..." she manages to say. "Please," she repeats, and I kiss her mouth violently while she shifts and struggles with the handcuffs again. And I want to uncuff her, I want her to hold on to me while I fuck her, but I can't set her free right now, because if she does touch me with her perfect little hands I'll ask her to marry me.

Somehow, even though she's begging me, I can tell that it's not because I've broken her or gained any power over her. She begs because she realises it's what I need to hear, she's used to getting what she wants and right now what she wants is for me to fuck her. Precious little bitch, anyone else would be helpless at this point, tied up and at my mercy, but not her. She lets me think I'm in control, but really she's the one running the show.

So I grind my teeth and drive into her so hard that she cries out. I can feel her clench around my cock before relaxing again, and I need to focus on holding back or I'll come in a matter of seconds.

I thrust into her and she moans. Oh, princess, please shut the fuck up, I'm trying to concentrate here... but she can't shut up, of course she can't, I'm driving her insane. Before my brain can register what's happening, my hands are at her throat and she's gasping for air. This would be routine, but for some reason I can't control my strength, and holy shit, she didn't give me a fucking safeword... not that she could say it right now, because she's choking. But I can't stop now, and I rock into her again and again and again, until her inner walls tighten around me so much it hurts, then relax, then tighten again so many times and for so long that I mentally congratulate myself, and her whole body trembles under me. That's it, I can't do this anymore. I come inside her and the pleasure courses through my whole body, causing my grip around her neck to loosen. She gasps for air and then she fucking chuckles. Oh my god, Gwineth, I almost killed you and your reaction is to have an earth-shattering multiple orgasm, of course it is, you perfect creature.

I need a moment to process this and to remember how to use my brain, and when it stops jumping around my skull in ecstasy, I fucking realise what just happened.

I furrow my brows and before I know it I'm bending down to kiss her bruised neck. She looks confused and surprised when I raise my head and look at her, I try to suppress my urge to kiss her and instead I free her from the cuffs. I collapse on the bed next to her, my eyes fixed on the white ceiling. I feel her moving on the mattress, and I guess she's just stretching and straightening her back, but she does more that that. She turns around and rests a hand on my chest.

I look at her and she gives me a weak smile, which I return the best I can, but my stare goes back to the ceiling almost immediately. I can feel her breathing slow down, I can almost hear her heartbeat go back to normal. I take a deep breath and I want to stand up and run away, for some reason, and I would actually do that but as soon as my abs flex in an attempt at sitting up, the hand on my chest forcefully stops me. She digs her nails into my skin but she doesn't open her eyes, doesn't flash me one of her killer smirks. She just holds me in place, and I don't want to run anymore.

I turn my head and outstretch my arm to take a cigarette from the pack sitting on the nightstand. I've lit it before I can remember that I quit smoking a few years ago. Gwineth looks up at me and I can't help but showing off by making smoke rings. She looks at them and smiles, I give the cigarette to her and she takes her hand off my chest to take it.

I stare at her. She may be in over her head like I told her earlier, but then again, so am I.


	6. Chapter 6

6. GWINETH

I don't feel like moving. My wrists are still burning from the restraints, and I notice that, sadly, I'm not bleeding anymore. He didn't cut deep, and I'm glad that he's such a gentleman because had it been my call, I would have let him cut down to the bone.

I give him the cigarette back, and he smokes quietly, his eyes on the ceiling. When he turns around to put it out in the ashtray on the nightstand, I see scars on his back. They look like the ones on his chest, but there's more of them here. In my job, I've seen my share of scars, and the ones he has look years old. He catches me staring and lies back down on the bed, he doesn't say anything. I'm about to say something myself, but his phone rings and he gets up to answer it.

"What?" he asks, clearly annoyed and also sort of tired. "How would I know, Larry?" he raises a single brow and comes back to bed. "You did what?" he suddenly yells, and jerks up. "Put Sebastian on the phone," he demands then. "Sebastian, do the world a favor and empty your gun in Larry's face," he sighs, then hangs up without waiting for an answer, as if his word is law. He tosses the phone on the nightstand and this hanging silence between us should make me very uncomfortable, but it doesn't. It feels nice, to be honest.

"For a second there, I thought I was going to kill you," he suddenly says, and it sounds very nonchalant, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"For a second there," I reply, tracing his chest with my fingers, "I wanted you to."

He turns his head and flashes me a smirk. "Say the word, pet, and I'll gladly grant your wish."

"I'll keep that in mind," I smile darkly. "I'll take a shower," I announce then, and get up to go to the bathroom. I turn around before opening the door, his stare meets mine and he smiles - an evil, crooked smile. I go inside the bathroom and close the door behind me.

As I get the water running, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. The bruises on my hips are blue, and if I keep this up they'll probably never heal. The bite marks on my neck are blue too, and the one he bit down on again tonight is red around the edges. I look down at my chest and smile at the pretty crimson lines.

I get in the shower, and I can't help but think that this looks really bad. He must never know that this was my first time doing... that. I've always wanted to try, but never found the right man. Is it wrong for me to enjoy these kind of things? No, I decide, it's really not. It's not like I'm being abused, here. I know very well what I'm doing and I want to do it. It's my choice.

Most men think that just because a woman likes violence in bed, she must want them to be violent out of bed too. That kind of reasoning makes me furious.

I don't know if James is that kind of man. I barely know who he is or even what he does for a living. But things are under control, because I don't plan on being with him outside of a bed.

Please notice how I phrased that. I don't "plan" on being with him outside of a bed. That doesn't mean I don't "want to" be with him outside of a bed.

Lawyer.

I make the water colder, attempting to distract myself from this train of thought. The soap burns in my wounds and I stand under the cold water longer than necessary. I don't want to go back into the bedroom, I already hate myself enough for giving up and calling him back. I told him I didn't want to see him again and after 8 hours I asked him to come here. This is bad. Striking fear has been tugging at my insides ever since we met - and that was roughly 24 hours ago but it seems like it's been forever. I haven't felt like this in a very long time, and it's scary because it's confusing. I got used to the fact that I don't feel... feelings the way other people do, yet somehow this man gives me butterflies. I'm confused. I don't like being confused.

I wrap a towel around me and convince myself to go back into the bedroom.

He's not there, and the first thought that goes through my mind is a very long list of creative curse words. He sneaked out on me, the bastard. Of course he did. I'm... oh. His briefcase is still here. His phone is still on my nightstand and the knife is still on the bloodstained bed.

I look for him in the living room, then I see the lights are on in the kitchen. I lean on the door frame and stare. He's only wearing his trousers, looking for something in the fridge, then gives up and closes it with a sigh of frustration. Then, he turns to face me and I'm supposing he'd noticed my presence because he doesn't look surprised.

"Your fridge is empty, dear," he observes.

"I rarely eat at home," I explain. "If you're hungry, we can order pizza."

"I'm not," he states.

"Then why were you looking in the fridge?"

"For science," he smirks. "I'm curious about you," he says, and it sounds rather menacing. He inches closer to me, until our bodies are almost touching, then runs his fingers through my hair and grins evilly once again. "I actually went through the whole house," he admits thoughtfully. "For science."

"Did you find anything interesting?" I ask, smiling calmly. He smirks and stares at me like he wants to make sure I really want to know.

"You've read all of your books at least three times," he starts, still playing with my hair. "The most worn out is Shakespeare's Macbeth, though. You seem to love reading but you don't treat books with the same respect you pay to movies. Your DVDs are in alphabetical order and in perfect conditions, and I saw quite a few magazines about cinema on the coffee table. Then there's the liquor cabinet, full of half empty bottles, mostly Martini and tequila. There's also champagne, but it's brand new even though it looks like it's been sitting there for a couple of months, so probably you don't like champagne or you don't like that particular bottle. Ah, and your closet is my favourite part. I couldn't find a single t-shirt, apparently you either wear designer suits, cocktail dresses or evening gowns. Lastly, the only things in your fridge are vegetables, eggs, a lot of fish and sparkling water," he concludes. He spoke calmly and slowly, sounding a lot like a professor giving a lecture. He looks at me expectantly, probably waiting for me to compliment him on his discoveries.

"I don't think this is fair," I say, resting a hand on his heart and looking up at him. "Now you know more about me than I do about you."

"Oh, I think it's perfect," he smirks, but quickly tears his eyes away from me and makes his way back to the bedroom. I follow him, god knows I want a second round, but when I get there he's tucking the shirt into his trousers, and he doesn't even glance in my general direction.

He knots his tie carefully and puts his jacket on. I stand there in my towel and stare at him. He's really elegant, but not in an uptight way. Just effortlessly charming.

He cracks a little smile when he picks up the knife to put it back in his briefcase, then he slips his phone into his pocket and finally looks at me. Why do I feel like crying?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks.

"Like what?" I retort, quickly regaining my composure. Jim approaches me like a predator, he tilts his head curiously while caressing my neck, and a chill runs down my spine.

"Like you want me to stay," he whispers. At that, I snap back to reality and gaze up at him, defiant.

"I don't," I state.

"Very well," he smiles a crooked smile which I don't return. He walks past me and I don't move an inch until I hear the front door slam shut.


End file.
